


Only For External Use

by bloody_blade0



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Art, Blow Jobs, Bottom Zayn, Dark, Don't make me, Drugs, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gay, Gay Sex, Hardcore, History, Kinda?, Kinks, LGBT, Lots of gay sex, Love, M/M, NO HEROIN, Pet Names, Piercings, Pining, Poetry, Public Sex, Rich Harry, Rimming, Self Harm, Sex, Smut, Tattoos, Toys, alternative universe, basically everything that'll assure we all go to hell, because, because that's the only way this is going to work, families won't be too involved, heroin and stuff, i don't want to, it's complicated - Freeform, just kidding, light tho, mastrubation, not toys like barbie dolls, obvs, poor struggling louis, see you (:, sex toys babes, sort of, stubborn zayn, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloody_blade0/pseuds/bloody_blade0
Summary: What’s running through your veins that’s causing you so much pain?What about the blackness of your heart you want me to believe in?Zayn was sitting on the top of a building with his journal, scribbling down thoughts as they came, not paying much attention to the handwriting, the fact that it’s 2am and he’s covered in paint. His phone is ringing and he can see it’s Louis but he doesn’t move to answer. Louis can take a hint.If only everyone else were that considerate, that would be wonderful.Harry for example.Or Liam.Yes, Liam leaving him be would be nice.It’s not like Liam has actually done anything, it’s just that he’s been on his mind for days and it’s getting quite annoying. Zayn wished he would stop doing that.There’s a creature that speaks many tongues with its eyes,His words are echoing through the night,across the galaxy up to my mindPositioning themselves conveniently in my skull,Refusing to leave, even after many of my pleas.orau where Zayn is a gentle soul (Louis laughing in the distance because HA HA HAVE YOU MET ZAYN??) who doesn’t want to open up and Liam is trying hard not to chop his head off in frustration





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo (:  
> So. This is kind of my first Ziam fic. I might put everything I've ever wanted to write about in it and ruin it completely so if you think I better just cut it off, do tell.  
> Really.  
> Don't let me embarrass myself.  
> Comment, let me know what you think! (:

There is something truly beautiful about mornings, young spring breeze and lovely smells that travel to one's senses in the early spring.   
There must be something beautiful about nature and everything human's mind will never be able to truly comprehend, only to dimly try to describe, as if explaining how wonderful it feels to run to a man in wheelchair.

  
There are poems, books, sonnets written about mornings and stars, but the only thing Zayn was able to feel right now was pain.

  
The dull throbbing in his head that hasn't stopped hammering at the back of his skull even after three cups of coffee. He was trying to justify himself, tried to find the beauty of an early sun rise, but the only thing he could think about now was death. 

  
That wasn't okay, right?

To think of all the wonderful ways of medieval torture applied om strangers at 7 am? It brought him relief, though.   
His brain was trying to function and even though it might not be the right way to scare the pain away, it worked for him. He'll think about the beauty of life later, when there isn't a group of thirty kids in his history section and when ritual sacrifice of minors wasn't punishable by law.

Human law, Heavenly law, whatever.

Right now, trying to summon the will of the gods and explain their teachers that, yes,

  
the school has arranged your visit with the owner but that doesn't mean you're allowed to demolish a hundred years old scripts. 

  
No, you're not actually allowed to go there.

No, those ice cream stains will not come off the lamb skin book cover.

There was only a certain amount of torture he was willing to endure. After a three hour visit, the same amount of physically restraining himself, trying not to scream, he was finally sitting on the steps in the back entrance of the library, smoking his fifth cigarette, swiftly tapping his foot on the ground while breathing out the smoke. 

He couldn't care less about leaving Niall back at the counter, dealing with everything. Or with the fact that his shift is ending in 10 minutes and he has to be at the restaurant in 15 minutes. 

Right now, he was just trying to breathe out evenly, forming perfect fume circles Louis always got jealous of.   
He's not going to think about his job, lack of sleep, shit weather or this pounding headache.

At least not until the buzzing of his phone interrupts him, signaling the end of his short escapade.

Shit.

He stood up slowly, swaying lightly as his vision darkened for a moment (he should really listen to his mother and go get those sugar levels checked), stepping on the remains of his cigarette and trying not to scowl while entering the shop again.  
The fact that Niall was able to stay chipper and smiling for everyone, all the time, amazed him greatly. Even now, knowing that he, just like Zayn, hasn't slept for more than 4 hours, has a shift at the hospital in less than two hours, he was chatting happily with an elderly lady, charming his way into the endless supply of stale candy. 

How?

Zayn assumed it must be an Irish thing.

"I'm out." he nodded, without even sparing his flatmate a glance, rushing towards the exit. He was tired, but painfully aware of the fact that Fynn, the owner of the restaurant he worked at, could tolerate only certain amount of slack. Zayn was pretty sure he has reached the limit long ago. 

He prided himself of the ability to turn off the crowd around him, swiftly moving through the masses, reaching his destination in a few minutes.   
Who needed a car anyway when this way you get a free opportunity to practice avoiding people, daily?

It's not like Zayn couldn't afford a car. He could. It just wouldn't be a new, expensive, fully functioning one. And even though he would rather set himself on fire than admit it, he kind of agreed with Harry on all that preserving the environment rant he often went on and on with. 

Most of the time, when he sat by the window in the middle of the night, or sitting on the edge of his favourite building, acting all grunge and tumblry, when his inspiration was at its peak, he wrote about the things he appreciated most in his life and Harry found himself on the pages of Zayn's journal most often than not. 

Even now, looking at him, putting his apron on, he knew Harry was aware of the fact that he was the source of his inspiration sometimes. Zayn thought Harry is some sort of inspiration for everyone who knows him, with his kind smiles and truly wonderful personality. Harry's soft voice and gentle pats on the shoulder whenever he could feel Zayn's discomfort and dark moods were appreciated.

He knew he never actually said anything about appreciating him, but surely, he knew. Right?

Right.

But now, with the pain still present, a long night in front of him, not even Harry's kind words could make him not cringe at the sight of hundreds of guests at the restaurant. 

Okay, maybe there weren't hundreds of guests. Maybe, after an hour of serving, his vision blurred and he saw everything double, but there were too many of them anyway.

No matter how long you spend carrying trays and drinks around, your hands never get used to the weight of it.

Balancing five plates is not an easy task. What would be easy is Fynn bucking up and managing to get a cart. But no. Bloody chuff.

Zayn might get used to everything, but the prying eyes of his guests never.  
They weren't serving any rude, loud guests. The restaurant was rather respectable, one of the kind some would say upon seeing the cozy enterier and the colourful staff. Zayn was often under the impression that he was hired for his 'mystic' appearance, as Harry would put it.

His mother said he looked like a grumpy junkie with all the tattoos and the look of everlasting boredom replaced rarely with a mocking smirk.

Whatever got the job done, he'd do it.

Apparently, some of the guests thought the same since he caught them very often looking at him. When he was in the mood he would spare him a fluttering smile and a glance under the eyelashes.

Today, he was not in the mood.

But that's what he absolutely loved about being an adult. No one fucking cares if you're in the mood or not. You're here to do the job, if not, you're replaceable.

That's why he approached his next table with a slightly less pronounced scowl, counting the minutes until his shift ends so he could go home and... Just go home.

"Good evening. Welcome to  _Seafret_ , are you ready to place your order?" he spoke mechanically, paying no attention to the pair in front of him.

The man jumped slightly, turning away from the girl he was with, towards him. He seemed to be surprised to see Zayn, and that made Zayn roll his eyes internally.

"Umm... Order. Yes." he coughed, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. 

Zayn was tired, and sometimes lacked empathy, or as his sister liked to put it  _basic human decency_ , but in this case, he could see that he has interrupted something.

He supposed he should feel bad. But didn't.

It wouldn't be the first time people came and had a fight, sometimes breaking plates and spilling wine, making the damage the waiter that's been serving them was made to pay. Zayn prayed these two wouldn't go that far. 

The man let his partner order first, then ordering himself, from the vegetarian section, Zayn noticed and gauged internally.

No judging, he thought and laughed lightly on his way to the kitchen knowing that Harry has a tiny orgasm every time someone orders his healthy meals.

He wasn't wrong because Harry beamed at the sight of the order and Zayn couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes this time.

"Zayn, be nice. Don't mock the costumers." Harry said.

"Who's mocking who?" Louis appeared suddenly, breathing hard.

"Did you... run here?" Zayn laughed as he inspected his friend's appearance.

"Yeah, missed the tube. I might puke my lungs out." he said hurriedly, putting his backpack away.

"That wouldn't be the case if you stopped being a human chimney." Harry said as a matter of factly.

"Bugger off." Louis said sweetly, pinching his cheek.

"I'm trying to save your life here!" Harry called after him.

Louis rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you need to have money and lack the stress of an actual modern human's life to live the life you're promoting, mate."

"I... I stress!" Harry muffled.

"Sure you do, muffin. Now, do your job and feed the privileged ones all the proteins you can fit on an average sized plate."

Harry huffed and turned his back on Louis who was already storming away.

Zayn leaned on the window of the kitchen, waiting for the last two orders to serve before he was allowed to leave, tapping his fingers nervously.

"That's another bad habit, you know. Unhealthy lifestyle tends to do that." Harry lectured while swiftly cutting something green.

"Mate, if anyone were listening to you now, they would think you're one of those _where's your gluten free menu?_ freaks. Chill."

"I'm just worried about you two!" he stressed.

Zayn was pretty sure this is a way of letting off the steam because  _Louis_ was the actual reason of his concern but, whatever.

He laughed. 

"Harry. What the hell?"

"First of all. You two, do not feed properly. You're all skin and bones. You never exercise unless you're running after a bus or something, just like he did right now. You smoke three packs of cigarettes a day. You never sleep. Have you seen the bags under his eyes, Zayn? What the hell is he doing? Why doesn't he take care of himself?" he sounded desperate.

Ah. There we are.

Louis and Harry situation was known to everyone. Everyone but Louis, that is.

Harry was throwing lovesick glances Louis' way every time the boy breathed, but the other one seemed to be oblivious to it all.

Zayn really wasn't good at explaining anything, let alone solve someone's romantic doubts. That was more Louis' area.

He shifted uncomfortably, wondering how to explain to a 23 year old milionare who worked in a restaurant as a chef  _for fun_ that Louis has had a family he's obliged to take care of since the death of his parents. That the bags under his eyes have been there for years, that Louis never eats an actual meal, not because he can't afford it but because he's constantly running from one place to another, juggling three jobs for four years and still managing to finish college.

He's been friends with Louis since they were 3 years old, he's been there when his parents divorced, when his parents died, he saw him go through so much but never breaking. Louis was the only constant in Zayn't life, his major inspiration. One of those people you'd gladly sell your soul to the devil for and he was sure Louis would return the favor.

So right now, explaining why Louis has an unhealthy habit to Harry proved to be a difficult task for an eloquent English major.

"Listen, there isn't much you can do about that, trust me. Just... Let him be, okay?" he tried.

"I can't just stand by and watch you destroy yourselves! You're acting as if life was torture, Zayn. As for Louis, I've never seen anyone swirling through it, never pausing to catch a breath like he does." 

Zayn looked at Harry sympathetically. He was trying to sort the vegetables on the plate, biting his lip in frustration.

"Mate, it's not like he doesn't want to be a normal 20 year old whose only worries are the next party to get wasted at and who to casually shag like he's got nothing else to do.I don't want to sound like a smartarse but he's kind of dealing with shit."

Harry pulled out seasoning bottles and started throwing seeds and herbs on the dishes in front of him.

"I've noticed. I'm not that ignorant, I know where you're coming from, but if sometimes he didn't let it peak through the cracks, I wouldn't know anything, because he doesn't share. He never says anything. To anyone." he shook a pepper bottle furiously. "Anyone but you."

Zayn laughed amusedly at the passive aggressive reaction.

"We've known each other since nippies, mate."

Harry stopped for a moment and shifted uncomfortably. 

"Yeah. I know..." he sighed.

"It just... Would be great for him... both of you actually, to get out of the shell for a moment and let other people in, you know." he wiped a speck of sauce from the plate and placed it in front of Zayn. "Both of you."

Zayn nodded and turned , basically running away, just like he always did when people started talking about opening up and change. The hell with it.

He didn't need a change, he didn't need to think about Harry's lovely, worried face casting sorrowful glances at him and Louis when they winked at each other while passing by, Louis maneuvering filthy plates with a surprising skill for such a tiny man. 

Someone might laugh at the sight of Louis trying to lift anything more than a fluffy kitten, someone who hasn't seen Louis leave a mountain like boy, twice his size with a bloody nose for calling him a fag, someone who hasn't seen him carry two sleeping children in his arms. Someone who's not Zayn.

And Zayn is anything but blind. 

So he was able to see that the couple he was about to serve was going to cause a scene.

He tried to approach and serve them as quietly as possible, asking politely about their wine preference, anything he could get them, all the mantra.

He received equally as polite answers from the man while his partner practically fumed by his side, almost setting the chair on fire. It was obvious that this wasn't going to end well. 

A break up? An unexpected pregnancy? Cheating? Zayn mused while turning away.

Maybe the man thought it would be easier to deal with the problem if they were in public but that only proved how bad he was at judging the character of his, presumably, girlfriend. Three feet away, he could hear hissing and furious hand gestures through the air. He met Louis' look across the room and they both mouthed...

_Three... Two... One..._

Crash.

A plate.

"You're a fucking  _coward!_ No!... Don't fucking touch me... You're an idiot, such a bloody idiot... I can't fucking believe you!" the woman screamed and stood up furiously, knocking the chair down and storming away, leaving the man like a gold fish, opening and closing his mouth. 

Zayn shouldn't be laughing, he really shouldn't. Louis shouldn't either.

But they both did.

He waited for a few minutes more before approaching the table, other guests turning back to their plates, some waving heads in disapproval, some amused. 

"Sir?" he spoke carefully.

The man lifted his eyes confusedly, still in shock. For a second he seemed to be unaware what has happened before composing himself, thanking Zayn for the service, reaching for his back pocket for the credit card.

He stood up, meaning to leave before freezing in spot and sitting down again.

"I... I came here with her... With her car..." he said.

Did he actually come to a dinner meaning to dump her, in her car?

 _No judging Zayn._ he hears his mother's voice.

"Oh." he breathes out.

"You can... call a cab?"

The man paled.

"My phone and wallet are in her car."

_Honestly, when was he allowed to laugh?!_

"I... er..." he cleared his voice, trying to compose himself. The man ought to be pitied.

"You can use the restaurant's service?" he suggested.

"Do you want me to call a cab for you? Or... someone to pick you up?"

He wanted to sound casual, but the only thing he could think about was the way that girl was going to ship this man's belongings back to him. He looked expensive, in his button up and black trousers, hair on point, casual sleek, and manners to back it up. She might throw it out of the window, like they did in movies, the woman certainly didn't lack the drama.

"Yeah... That would be great, actually. Can you call... Call Liam?" he said going through his pockets as if his possessions might magically appear. The disappointed look on his face proved he failed.

Liam... Right. Call Liam. Did he need to fucking scream LIAM into the night?  _Honestly!_

_No judging, Zayn._

"Um... Sure. Could you please tell me the number?" 

The man laughed nervously and dictated the number Zayn memorized because he did that. He had good memory.

Telling the man to stay put, picking up the plates that haven't been under attack, he went to dial Liam.

 

"The phone's broken." Harry spoke flatly, sweat appearing above his upper lip as he tried to balance between three pans.

Zayn scowled. That's just his luck. He'll probably have to pay for that too, along with the plates the demon woman broke.

He glanced at the table where he left the man, telling him not to move so he wouldn't cut himself on the glass he had yet to pick up. Zayn didn't know who to be angry at because the man just sat there, lost, trying hard not to show that he's on verge of tears and it all looked so laughable, and Zayn was honestly the worst person on the fucking world for thinking about laughing right now.

With an annoyed huff he took out his phone from the back of his pocket and dialed the number from memory. 

It rang.

And rang. 

And rang.

And Zayn couldn't believe himself because if he was to drive that poor bastard home, which by the way,  _with what?,_ he will have to shoot someone. He was about to hang up, cursing under his breath when a voice cut through the connection.

"Hello?"

"Fuc- Hello!" Zayn spoke breathlessly. 

"Is this Liam?"

There was a short silence.

"Yes, this is Liam." the voice spoke firmly again.

"I'm calling from the restaurant Seafret. Your friend, er.." he realized he didn't know the man's name. Fuck it. He'll just assume they were close enough to inform each other of their plans regularly.

"Your friend has had an accident. Misplaced belongings. Unable to reach his companion, so he's asked us to contact you."

He heard the man laugh.

"Is Tom okay?" he asked, obviously knowing of whom Zayn was talking about.

Zayn looked at the man's lost face and calculated how long would it take for him to crumble on the floor.

_Please wait until I've picked up the glass._

"Yes, your friend is fine." 

"Okay... Yeah, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes." the man replied after Zayn had dictated the address and hung up.

"Sir?" Zayn spoke, startling the man. Tom.

"Yes?"

"Your friend said he'll be here in a few minutes." Zayn assumed he was going to pay for the meal.

Zayn hoped Zayn won't have to pay for the meal.

Gods, please listen to Zayn's prayers.

"Oh, thank you!" he said breathlessly.

"I'll pay as soon as he gets here, I'm sorry if this has caused you some sort of trouble... Actually I'm sure you were troubled by this, I'm deeply apologizing for the scene and..." he looked at the floor, "and the plates..." 

This might've even been endearing. Zayn might've enjoyed his discomfort. 

_Not._

Zayn was not a monster, no matter what Louis said, no.

"I'll pay for the plates, yes! And everything else, your service..."

Okay.

"No, no need for that, really. Just... Please, you sit down and wait for your friend and let me clean this up, okay?" he smiled lightly, knowing it'll calm the man because... well, everyone said his smile did that and no matter how much he hated it and argued, he'll use anything he can work with now.

Tom smiled weakly.

"Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Thanks."

Zayn nodded and bent down to pick up the plates. And, oh wonderful, two wine glasses. 

Lovely.

The woman must've been watching some serious drama shows because it seemed like she just grabbed the dishes and threw them on the floor, like an angry child. There were pieces scattered under the table and Zayn had to reach under the tablecloth, tap in the dark until he reached a rather long, sharp piece.

How did he know it was a long, sharp piece of glass?

Because he fucking cut himself on it.

Of course he did. Why not?

He hissed under the breath, not letting the piece go, quickly gathering the rest, his left hand trembling. 

_Shit._

He discarded the glass, trying to find something to wrap his forearm in when he saw Tom gesturing vividly, standing next to a slightly larger man whom he assumed to be Liam. Thank fuck.

"Hey! So, my ride is here." he smiled, gesturing at Liam who seemed to be in a state of slight shock by something on Zayn's body.

Probably the tattoos. Zayn hated people who judged him for his tattoos.

He pressed his lips together, nodding. Waiting. 

"My ride that's going to pay for the bill, as promised." Tom nudged his friend, wiggling his eyebrows.

"And leave a tip, well deserved." he smiled sweetly at Zayn. 

Liam pulled his wallet from the pocket of a black coat that could pay Zayn's rent, feed him and his cat for three solid months. Not that Zayn could recognize a Saint Laurent when he sees one.

Thanks Harry.

He gave his credit card, Zayn thanking him, asking for a signature, offering all the restaurant policy mantra for a thousand time, secretly wanting to pass out because his hand  _hurt._

Zayn returned the card, trying very hard to hide his bloodied sleeve. Fynn would murder him if he knew he was spilling blood in front of costumers. 

"Thank you again. Sorry for the damage and everything..." Tom said again.

"No problem. Hope you come back again. Under lighter circumstances, that is." Zayn offered weakly, his head slightly dizzy. He couldn't have cut an artery, right?

Right???

Tom laughed lightly, turning towards Liam who held the door for him.

"Most certainly."

It was December.

It was 3rd of December.

There was snow outside.

The first thing one thinks about in December is  _clothes._

So why, oh why, did Tom forget his coat? Why, oh why did he make Zayn run after him into the night to hand him the damn thing? 

Was it possible to hate a human being at the same time you pity them? Too many complicated feelings towards a costumer he has known for less than two hours.

"Tom!" he shouted, making two heads look at him as they were entering a large black car Zayn knew nothing about. Cars were Niall's thing anyway. He waved the coat, hoping one of them would register it. There's no way in hell he's going to run across the parking lot to deliver a damn coat. 

Tom ran towards him, laughing apologetically. 

"I've been horrible tonight. I'm so sorry. Thank you for this." he sighed, putting on the coat.

"I don't know what I'v- Hey, are you alright?" his brows furrowed, hand gripping Zayn's shoulder.

Zayn wished he wouldn't do that, but he couldn't find the strength to explain his touch phobia to an annoyingly endearing stranger. Instead, he leaned against the building, breathing in the cold air deeply.

"Yeah, I'm fine." he breathed out, slowly turning away from the touch.

"You sure, you look a bit... I don't know..." Tom said worriedly.

Zayn could see a large figure approaching them, Tom turning towards him.

"Liam, doesn't he look unwell?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you. Ha-" 

"Zayn! Where the fuck did you disappea-Oh." Louis' voice suddenly broke through.

He could see his friend's small frame coming closer, standing on his left.

"Sorry mate, had to bring the..." he gestured towards Tom, hoping Louis would realize what he's talking about because he really couldn't express himself.

"Yeah, our fault. Mine, actually." Tom said breathlessly.

"Thanks. Again." 

"No problem." he nodded as the men turned to leave and he leaned into Louis, nudging him to move because he was  _freezing._ Not to mention,  _bleeding_ and  _dizzy._

"Zayn, are you fucking  _bleeding?!_ " Louis' voice came after a millisecon and- Bravo, Einsten. How observing, he thought just before passing out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Zayn has fainted before. It was sort of a constant occurrence since he was 16 and has encountered the wonders of being a gay, half Pakistani poet at a conservative community who only recently started to care about his appearance and has a friend who's stoned more often than not.

He blames Louis, honestly. It was his fault that he enjoyed weed. It's not like he was addicted, because you know, can't really get addicted to weed, but he sort of was. Addicted that is, to the feeling. The feeling of floating and worrying about nothing.

Hey, you're a 16 year old twink, you have nothing to worry about in your life!

Wrong.

Or,... Right?

He really didn't have anything to worry about. He wasn't that poor. No death in the family. No creepy uncles sliding their hands up his body or anything alike that might've scarred him for life.  _Nothing._

When people see a frowning 16 year old they tend to blame it on these foul generations that are going to ruin our economy because they don't care about anything but themselves.

When teachers see grades dropping they write it down to the angsty teen mood and adolescent wish to defy the system. 

They send letters to their families, and families intervene in the only way they know- punishment. 

So when a 16 year old twink gets punished for being sad he tends to start to hate the world and starts to love the light haze of weed and his friend's ever present laugh that doesn't hide the fact that he's been crying three minutes prior.

Zayn really hated school. Really, really hated it. 

First of all, everyone was shit. 

Their curriculum was shit. 

Professors who didn't care about anything than their paychecks were shit.

Students who laughed at him for getting dizzy at the PE were shit.

People who laughed when he fainted for a hundredth time were shit.

But they were kind of helpful as well. 

Because, they were those who taught him how to control himself every time he felt like he wasn't just going to faint, but that he was going to make a hole in the ground with the weight of his body. 

He learned how to develop that look on his face that didn't make people pity him but be intimidated.

By 20 he was carrying a mystic aura and he rather liked it.

Others didn't.

Louis hated it.

"You know I don't get along with words as good as you but that whole  _I'll punch you if you breathe_ look is just shielding you from the outer world you think is going to harm you. This isn't high school anymore, mate. And, you know... the world can do without you, but you can't live without the world."

"I might as well try. And the look? It's not just a look. It's genuine, and honestly, you're risking a punch right now." he replied grimly.

Louis snorted, unamused.

"Come at me, anytime."

Zayn would never, ever come at him. Or admit he's right. Because he's not.

Obviously.

He's created a nice cacoon of comfortableness around himself, developed the systems of control and puzzled himself into the society just nice, thank you very much. 

He missed the feeling of fainting though.

It was like a high, but  _so much more._

Like sleeping but with personalized soundtrack in the background.

Every time he fainted he heard music. 

He never said that to anyone because he had developed a sense of what people consider normal and what not. Hearing music, flying and loving to faint is not normal.

He never fainted from a cut though. 

His cuts were never deep enough to leave him bleeding on the bathroom floor, dramatically waiting for someone to appear and scream at the sight of his pathetic limp body pressed against the wall. 

Honestly, why did people do that?

If you consider yourself unworthy and bad, isn't your punishment just that, to be left to suffer on the world, like every self destructive excuse for a human?

Maybe that was just Zayn.

He hated the thought of all the fuss that would develop after he died, or fainted for that matter. 

Back in school he would feel embarrassed when teachers called his name, pulling him from the limbo he was swirling in, _gently_ slapping his cheeks. He could imagine himself coming back from the dead screaming if someone found his body, going through all the physiological phases of whatever bodies did after systems shutting down. 

That's why, while he felt rather comfortable dozing off, he suddenly remembered he was standing just a few seconds ago and he shouldn't be feeling this good since, you know, life sucks and this feeling is way too good for him to be actually blessed with it. And Louis slapping him and calling his name helps a lot too.

"Zayn, you fucker, wake up!" 

He could feel himself being lying on something firm and cold. 

The ground, because Louis wasn't in a position of delivering him a comfy memory mattress on spot, not that Zayn knew how lying on one of those felt.

He grunted loudly, and tried to shove Louis' hand away, but failed.

"Thank fuck, you're awake." he heard Louis breathe out. 

"Harry, love, bring me my backpack." he said, and as Zayn's vision cleared he could see a tall, lanky figure standing above them. Harry.

"You didn't bring anything with you, right? I think I left my big bandages at home." Louis questioned, firm hands lifting Zayn up, positioning him against the building.

"Nah, Niall took it today, a kid scrapped its knee today at the shop." he replied with a distant voice.

"We'll have to work with whatever we've got. Thank you." Louis said as Harry reappeared, handing him the kit.

Louis opened it swiftly, lying the contents on the ground, pulling the scissors out.

"Fuck Zayn, this mop is soaked." he said as he carefully cut through the fabric Zayn wrapped around earlier.

"On a brighter note, you have no blood left so no more bleeding, huh?" he said as a matter of factly, even though Zayn could feel drips flowing down his arm.

Harry, stood above, watching Louis discarding the fabric of Zayn's ruined shirt, restaurant shirt he's probably going to have to pay for, cleaning the skin around his cut, Zayn not even bothered to hiss or react at the sting at all, patching him up with the efficiency of someone who has been in this situation way too many times to be affected by the blood.

Harry on the other hand looked ready to faint. Zayn found it rather amusing.

He looked down at the cut, thinking of asking Louis if it's going to need stitching.

When he voiced his doubts Louis waved his head.

"Nah, you'll be fine. Just, let Niall check it when you get home, yeah?" he said as he put away the kit, discarding the wraps of bandages at the dumpster.

Zayn decided to wait a few more minutes before standing up, he wasn't going to faint, again, really. That would be embarrassing with Harry there and Louis would mock him for months after that, because Louis is  _that_ kind of friend.

"So, what happened now? I thought you said you quit doing it in public, or... you know, at all?" Louis approached chipperly, not fooling Zayn for a second. He knew Louis was about to strangle him and he felt rather smug about the fact that for once, he was wrong. 

Zayn kept his promise, didn't do it in public or at all, for fuck's sake, he's not a child. 

Just a rather unstable masochistic 23 year old with a dying wish, but, whatever.

"Actually, this one's not on me." he replied, leaning on Louis who, without knowing, positioned himself next to him for support.

"Oh really?" Louis asked sarcastically, gripping him tightly around the waist.

"Am I to blame the gods above for creating metals that are easily crafted into sharp objects cough blades cough?"

Zayn was able to roll his eyes so he reckoned he was feeling just fine and could walk, since, besides walking, eyerolls were pinnacle of his body activity.

"As a matter of fact, I cut myself on glass."

"Really?" Louis said in disbelief.

"Yes. The bloke who came with a banshee left a mess and I cut meself while trying to pick the shit up."

"Huh."

"Don't  _huh_ me, ask Harry if you don't believe me. He saw me with a broom and all."

Louis seemed to forget Harry was even there, and Zayn couldn't blame him, since Harry looked like he was trying to blend into the darkness.

He probably heard Louis' rant. Well, he thought they were weird before, so...

"I believe you, yeah." Louis said absentmindedly.

"That the guy who left a second before I came?"

"Yeah, he and Liam." Zayn laughed and continued to tell the story of Tom's misfortunes he swore he's going to write a book about. 

As much as Louis and him found it amusing, Fynn didn't, just like Zayn assumed he wouldn't.

"I don't care if the prince of fucking Wales came around and chopped your arm with a ceremonial sword,  _it's going off your paycheck._ " he said grimly, pointing a finger at his face and Zayn had to fight an animalistic urge to bite it off. 

So, a few quid off his paycheck, big deal. It's not like it was that big to begin with. 

Except, Zayn really needed the money. Everyone really needs money, it's pathetic how those scraps of paper can save a life. But hey, who's Zayn to judge since his sanity is preserved with miles and miles of written word. On actual paper. 

He didn't roll his eyes and he prouded himself for not punching his boss which would either get him fired or at least punched back. Fynn was a dynamic man. Instead, they agreed on him staying behind, cleaning everything up, cleaning the dishes or whatever they did with it, he never really did after shift cleaning, so Fynn could save a few pounds, not pay the cleaners ( _Do you know how hard it is to get blood off that carpet in the lobby you ruined?_ ) and laugh at Zayn's misery. Zayn thought he did it for sport sometimes, laugh at people. The only way a 56 year old could be so preserved is if he either took really good care of his body and mind (which Zayn didn't doubt for a second since he has seen his skin products and his favourite stress relief was screaming at the waiters) or he fed on the souls of the poor. Zayn was quite sure he could hear the screams from the basement of Fynn's family restaurant sometimes.

Numbness was spreading through his arm, dizziness was still present, he was tired, the headache got worse by every passing second but the job was to be done. 

It's not like he has anything better to do. Like, eat, what he hasn't done since yesterday, or sleep which he doesn't really remember of doing properly for the past ten years.

He texts Niall that he's going to stay late, so he wouldn't worry, because that's just how Niall was, getting worried if Zayn didn't call or text. 

 _"A simple 'I'm alive' will do, thank you."_ he has said when Zayn once forgot and was faced with a rather angry and disappointed Niall waiting for him at home even though he's been at work the previous day for 10 hours. Zayn acted like a puppy, tail between his legs, apologizing and swearing he'll be more careful in the future, the scene strongly reminding him of something that should evolve between a mother and a troublesome teen. 

As ridiculous as it sounded he has kept his promise because he couldn't bare the thought of anyone worrying about him, especially not Niall. 

He does send a passive remark every time, just to keep the balance of the universe. He's even changed Niall's name in his phone to Mum hoping it'll set the boy off, but he just grinned at it and pat his head to which Zayn had to roll eyes at even though he was deep down grateful for the people he knew he didn't deserve and who stuck around no matter the fact that he was a dick more often than not. 

Maybe he was a  _really, really_ good person in the previous life so this is Karma's way of rewarding him or something. That's the only explanation he could come up with without scowling at the universe again because of its unfairness. He was a dick, he doesn't deserve friends, so why don't send them to someone who does? Why punish both people who need friends and those beautiful people like Niall? 

He waved his head in disapproval while moping the floors, silently swearing under the breath.

Fuck Karma.

He stayed at the damn place long after Harry left. Harry who did the dishes for him without offering, stating that Zayn would probably break them anyway and he really needed them, being the chef who cooks actual food in actual pans and all. Not that Zayn would know anything about those, eating takeaway from plastic plates or  _microwaving_ his food. Harry looked deeply disgusted and Zayn tried to hide his fond smile, messing around with the music, trying to find something that could get him through the hours that follow. 

Mental note to thank the gods for music. 

And Harry.

Maybe world didn't suck that much after all.

No. World sucks anyway. They probably sent us down all the shit they didn't want up above and left themselves the good stuff. The usual. 

As for Harry, just like everything else in his life that brought him joy, Zayn waited the moment it'll all disappear. He was 90% sure Harry was some sort of divine creature that'll bursts into stardust if anyone discovers his true form.

By the time he finished and put away the chemicals, it was 3 in the morning (great time to walk three blocks home) and some indie song has been silently playing from the radio. 

He locked everything up, and an evil part of him wished he didn't so someone would come along and demolish the place, but he really didn't because he was tired and he wasn't that evil  _no matter what Louis said._ The heavy smell of lime soap was still swirling through his nostrils as he walked down the street, so he pulled out a cigarette to chase the unfamiliarity away with trembling fingers. Was he trembling from the cold, because it was rather cold since it was December and all, or because he was hurt and lost a lot of blood today and he assumed the stinging was because the cleaning product got its way down his hand? 

Nevermind.

He didn't want to go to the flat just yet so he turned towards the outskirts of the city, leaving the crowd and the noise behind.

There's no actual place where you could be alone in this city but there are pleasant and less pleasant places so he opted for the first option as often as possible. Because winter is beautiful only at Winterfell and even there it's destructive, so winters in big cities most writers describe are either made up, over romanticized, or not from current century. 

Zayn hated winter, he hated being cold, he hated the way it made him never want to leave the bed more than usual. He hated how it made the streets wet and he hated  what cars did to snow. The fact that he couldn't see the snowflakes like they looked under the microscope frustrated him greatly. Or that he would never be able to count them, the fact that they melt so fast, too fast for him to catch a glimpse of the way they touch the ground, joining other snowflakes while forming the endless milky sea. Winter was the worst, honestly. 

But maybe it was beautiful in a way he couldn't see? 

Most of the time, when he felt he was getting too judgmental he tried to look at the world the way Harry would, sugarcoating everything, being disgustingly supportive and non ignorant.

_Puppies. Puppies playing in the snow. Puppies with big brown eyes and ruffled fur who play at the park with other puppies. Mother puppies with their baby puppies, puppies playing together, befriending other puppies, connecting people, owners befriending,_

Or,

dogs, wet dogs who run through the snow the city has deformed. Wild, rabid dogs attacking homeless people by the dumpsters where they lit a fire in order not to freeze to death. Hungry dogs fighting to death over a bone in the back of an Italian restaurant while an angry, loud, short man swears in perverted Latin from the back entrance.

Nope. Not even Harry's mind could make winter look nice. 

Or Zayn's got too much of a twisted mind.

Nope. 

Winter sucks.

He ruffled through his backpack as he sat down on the edge of a building he frequently visited, traces of his presence visible on the short walls that rose above the flat roof, spiraling entrance, even an entire apartment of a shady looking bloke who sometimes came up to share a joint with Zayn, bring his guitar or talk about his cat. Everything was decorated with his artwork, sprays and paints, blacks and yellows and reds and everything. 

He did that sometimes, painted murals all over the city, mostly in shady communities, where he felt most at ease and probably was the only one who looked like a part of them so they didn't doubt him for a second. He didn't know if he was to be terrified or honoured when a guy approached him a few months back just as he was collecting his paints, looking at the mural of a girl floating in the space, hair spread around her, defying gravity, and asked him how much his  _stuff_ cost. 

Taking a long drag, puffing the smoke out he stilled for a moment, looking at the city, restless, loud under his feet.

_I stand at the top of a tree,_

_wanting to see the world from a perspective of a creature who's free;_

_But time is ruthless, and so is my will to be, stand or breathe,_

_Walk among people,_

_when streetlight are the only ones noticing me;_

_I look at the clouds and call out a plea,_

_Apocalypse, please, I'm counting to three._

He finishes his cigarette and puts away the journal away, almost laughing at himself and his pathetic attempts of relief. 

Lying down in his bed he traces his fingers along the cut and shifts uncomfortably at the wish to reach firmly and press it. As if someone was there, looking, disapproving. He's never cared what others thought anyway, right? he thinks just before scratching it hard enough to feel blood against his fingers under the blanket. 

And,  _ah,_ there it is. 

The relief.

*

 Not every day was torture, of course.

Some days were just less painful than others. Painful to breathe, to exist. 

It was so hard to feel everything, and show nothing. He wished for nothing more than just to act like he didn't have to keep a straight face. He wanted it to be normal to crumble on the floor and just lie there for a moment, a year.

"What do you think, if I start crying and screaming in the middle of a street, would people mind?" he asked absent mindedly as he sat behind the counter of the store, Louis rocking on the chair besides him.

"I don't think they would notice. Or care for that matter." Louis mused.

Zayn continued to doodle in his journal thinking about how much Louis was right.

"Did Fizzy like the book you gave her?" he asked after awhile, just to keep the conversation, the words flowing.

"No. She abandoned it after reading thirty pages. Said the girl is annoying as fuck and the guy who wrote it got some serious mental issues." Louis replied as he stood up and went towards Zayn's laptop, trying to put on Black Sabbath no matter how many times Zayn said that's not reading appropriate music.

"I did always kind of hate Alice in Wonderland... And thought Freud would make wonderful theories about what was happening in that guy's mind when he wrote it.."

An elderly man approached, paying for a gardening book, smiling at Zayn and thanking him for the recommendation. 

Zayn waved it off, saying not to mention it, because, really. Do not mention to anyone that Zayn's talking about petunias with 60 year olds. 

If anyone did find out he could always blame it on Harry, because that actually wouldn't be that far from truth since Harry and him have talked about gardening. 

Sweet Lord, no wonder Harry never believes him when he pulls his badass face. 

"You and Fizz are the weirdest people on this planet." Louis scoffed, standing in front of the science fiction section.

"Everyone loves Alice and that weird cat people love tattooing on themselves!"

"That's because of the Hollywood adaptation. But man, it was weird even before I saw Johnny Depp looking like a geisha. Honest to God, haven't you noticed the psychology behind it?" Zayn ranted as he joined Louis, shoving the books that've arrived three days ago and he didn't have the energy to put away.

"Behind Johnny Depp's roles that get weirder as he gets older?"

They were moving along the shelf, Louis moving his fingers across the covers, passing Zayn the books.

"That too... But good weird, yeah?"

Zayn cringes at the sight of  _Ender's Game_ as he puts it away. He's been fighting a silent battle with Rich, the owner, not to order that book for solid three months, and was surprised to win the battle every time. Of course, he lost the war, blah blah, but that was expected. It was weird that they didn't have it already when he came in to work two years ago since the book was sort of popular.

Zayn did not judge the people who kept coming in, asking for the book.

At all. 

He gave in, actually feeling bad for backing people from reading it, but for him, who had a very distinctive taste in books, it was as if they were giving away  _50 Shades Of Grey_ as Classical Literature and not crying over the paper that was wasted.

"Is there such thing as 'good weird'?" he mused.

"Of course there is." Louis said as a matter of factly.

"You're good weird."

Zayn knew better than to be angry with Louis for saying things like that.

"Well... when you say 'weird' it sort of puts people off, you know? People expect weird when they hear weird. Like... When you say,  _This is my mate Zayn, he's got this weird job. He's a chick sexer._ And that is weird so people won't say,  _your mate's job isn't weird_ since it is, but if you say,  _My mate Zayn is a bounty hunter, isn't that weird?_ They would actually say,  _no, that's not weird, that's actually pretty cool, different, unique._ And it is. That's how you could describe Johnny Depp, different, unique, not weird."

"First of all... What the hell is a chick sexer?" Louis laughed.

"It's a person who identifies a chick's sex?" Zayn said in his most prominent  _duh_ voice.

Louis stopped to stare at him, intending to say something before giving up, handing him another book.

"I don't even want to know where you stumbled upon that information, just hope that you didn't consider it as a career option. Even though it would be fun, to see you peaking under a chick's tail." Louis crackled.

"I'm sure that's not how it works, I doubt it's a physical process at all." Zayn rolled his eyes.

"Are you really getting that desperate with the money?"

"Har har."

"We gotta find you a hobby, mate."

"I've got loads of hobbies. Some of them include judging children's books by proving that the author was quite obviously a pedophile with an unhealthy obsession with holes and crying girls."

"Ah! Stop it! My ears!" Louis cried out, shutting his eyes firmly, gripping the shelf, acting as if he was going to faint.

He didn't go to drama school for nothing.

"Calm your tits. There are children present around here." 

"Children, whose childhood has just been scarred, just like mine. Remind me not to let you around my sisters, ever again?"

Zayn waved his rant off because, that's not going to happen since he's pretty sure Fizz likes him more than Louis and would kill him if he said she couldn't spend time with Zayn. Not that Zayn was so self assured, but it was pretty obvious. And he loved that kid more than Louis so he would probably help with a few more diabolic tips than a 15 year old could come up with. Like putting him in a metal box and starting a fire under it. 

Not.

Of course. 

God, Zayn.

"Sure thing as long as you replace me helping them with their English homework." he smiled sweetly.

"Fuck you."

They finished putting away the books just as Zayn remembered he'd promised to bring Fizz  _Handmaid's Tale_. He never really had a filter with her, considering her a girl ahead of her age, and hey, who was ever left damaged by reading a book? And it's not like he's ever recommended anything graphic, or God forbid, pornographic. Just, sometimes, books you need to have the brains to read, and that girl certainly didn't lack them. 

She was more than grateful and Zayn knew that. He would be too. It would've been great if he had someone like that back then to filter the books for him. But, filtering them for himself was also kind of satisfying. 

He kind of loved the memories he had that tied him to his books. The ways he got to them, all kinds of sales and  _weird_ people who sold them, vintage stores he visited with Louis where Louis ended up at the music instruments section while Zayn sticked with the books and art supplies. What he hated most, especially when he went  _book hunting_ ( _If you say 'book hunting' ever again in front of me, I'm going to punch you so hard you're going to die and then I'll chop your body to pieces and plant them in Mrs. Rey's garden and grow little Zayns I'll never forget to water like I did with that mum's weird plant.)_  with Louis is those tall shelves and all the potentially interesting books hidden up there. One of Zayn's first poems was actually inspired by the rage and frustration of not being able to reach the top shelf, crying for the lost worlds hidden behind the stars up above. Pathetic, yes.

What frustrated him even more is that when you're short, and, yes, he was kind of short, sue him, and your backup was Louis Tomlinson who was also kind of short and refused to admit it, it becomes a problem. Because, sometimes, it's those few centimeters that matter. (no pun intended)

And that's why he avoided the science fiction section, since it was the biggest one, aside from the part where romance books that made him cringe at the sight of desperate 40 year old females besides them. So he left it to Greg, who was 185 cm tall and had no problem with reaching top shelves where Zayn's book was tactfully placed between two other red books that weren't alphabetically sorted because Greg was tall and stupid. 

After standing in front of the shelf for solid five minutes, the book mocking him, he huffed in annoyance. Louis stood there, mocking him before hurrying away after Zayn gestured his hand towards the book and said 'Be my guest, Tommo the Giant!'.

"Thought so." he mocked as Louis mumbled something under his breath, presumably inappropriate.

He was just about to bring a stool from the back room, and risk Greg's mocking, when he heard a chuckle and turned his head swiftly towards the sound, narrowing his eyes, a death glare already prepared.

The stranger stood by the row of books him and Louis were arranging a few minutes ago and stopped abruptly when he saw Zayn's eyes on him.

Zayn was pleased to see blush spreading across the man's face. 

A rather...familiar face.

Liam, the pickup guy's face. 

Huh.

"Anything I can help you with? I believe the humour section is three rows in front?" he deadpanned. 

The man smirked, licking his lips, as if Zayn actually amused him.

"No, I... Might've noticed you're having trouble..."

"Might've eavesdroped, pried?" Zayn asked sweetly.

"Considered offering help?" he proposed while approaching and stretching towards the books, grabbing all three.

He handed him the books, rising eyebrows. 

"Which one?" 

Zayn gripped  _Ninety Eighty Four_ and  _Tales of Beedle The Bard_ and resisted the urge to smack himself with them because,  _What the hell, Greg?!_

"Why do we even bother with organizing them, anyway?" he muttered under his breath and the man chuckled as if he said something amusing. 

He didn't, Zayn wasn't amusing.

Stop it, Liam.

Ugh.

Maybe he should smack Liam with these?

But he couldn't. The man did just offer to help and helped him. No matter the fact that he did it smugly and that Zayn wanted to punch him. But then again, Zayn wanted to punch everyone. But Liam didn't deserve that, right, common sense? 

_Right, Zayn._

_Oh, and you should probably stop calling him by his name, it's weird. He doesn't know yours, you're a creep._

Right.

_You still gotta say thank you, Liam, like good boys do._

Why does he have his mother's voice in his head? 

Go away, mum.

_Thank him, Zayn._

He rolled his eyes at his mother and smacked himself mentally.

Get a grip on yourself, Malik, for fuck's sake.

"Thank you, Liam." he squeezed out.

Liam's eyes widened in surprise.

"You're welcome...?" 

 _Smack. Smack. Smack._ the sound of Zayn's head against the wall in his head.

"Zayn." 

"Soo... How do you know my name, Zayn?" he asked amusedly.

Of course a posh prince wouldn't remember him.

Ugh.

"I work at a restaurant." he said simply, moving away from the man towards  _Mystery_ sign to put away the book. 

"Oh my God!" he heard Liam behind him, then footsteps approaching.

"You're the one who helped Tom!" he laughed.

"He's been dying to thank you one more time. That night when we left he was distressed, even left his coat back at the restaurant, then you brought it back and he felt like he didn't thank you properly, and I was in sort of a hurry so I dragged him away, maybe that was a bit rude, he said it was rude and he kept saying you looked pale when he left you there, but I saw your co worker come and thought it wouldn't be that bad if he was with yo-"

The man rambled so Zayn stopped listening after awhile, just watching his lips move 100 km/h, his face so expressive Zayn was dazed. 

"It's okay. Yeah. Okay."

"You're okay?" Liam seemed to stop talking at one point.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. Again."  he offered a twist of lips one would consider a grimace but in Zayn's head it was very much a smile.

Liam seemed visibly relieved.

"Good. That's good, yes." he nodded, grinning nervously. 

Zayn nodded as well, shifting in one place, thinking about what could the man possibly want from him more. His mother's voice seemed equally as confused since it hasn't spoken to offer any advice.

"So... Say hi to Tom?" he tried.

Liam seemed to be confused for a moment, as if he didn't know who Tom was, but then laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, yes. Of course. Might even persuade him to come back to that restaurant and pay for a meal himself, huh?"

Zayn would like to say that he doesn't give two fucks if Tom comes by and pays since his paycheck doesn't rise based on the number of guests per evening, or that he would most rather not like to see Tom ever, again since the last meeting left him with a cut that after all needed stitching because he picked around it and Niall completely lost his shit when he realized, but now he's got an excuse to cover it with a tattoo and that's cool, right? 

"Sure, I'll be waiting patiently." he said with a healthy dose of professionally covered sarcasm and turned away towards  _Kids_ section to put away the other misplaced book Greg hasn't navigated properly.

_What?_

Seriously, don't expect him to be polite all the time.

He doesn't feel empathy like other people do. 

He doesn't feel Liam's eyes on his back for a few seconds longer than social norms allow.

He doesn't hear the door shutting after Liam left, because that could be anyone leaving, the shop is packed today, right?

Right?

Right.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment! Please! I'll post immediately, I've got some great ideas. Just need you to approve. (:


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